


Show Me the Data

by lillianfromaccounting



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: F/M, Jensen's hungry, Skippy from IT, Tracking down Max
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 07:51:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4255314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lillianfromaccounting/pseuds/lillianfromaccounting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Several months after the movie ends, Aisha gets a new lead on tracking Max.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show Me the Data

“Are you sure your contact is reliable?” Clay asked. He and Aisha, dressed in EMT uniforms, were sitting in the back of an ambulance. Pooch was in the driver’s seat, binoculars trained on the entrance to an industrial park building down the hill.

“Positive,” Aisha replied, looking at her watch. “Alex is never late and always delivers. This was Max’s finance guy in the U.S. We should be able to get enough intel from him to track Max down.”

“What does this guy look like?” Jensen asked over comm. Sitting behind a help desk counter in a black button down shirt, he scratched at the gaudy orange and green ‘Show Me the Data!’ logo over his left breast pocket. A white ID displaying the name ‘Skippy’ in black block letters barely hung on to the pocket by a flimsy plastic clip. He leaned back on his rolling chair and hit his head on the wall behind him. The small office had just enough room for two black folding chairs against the wall opposite from the counter. To his left, several large metal doors dotted a long narrow hallway.

“I don’t know,” Aisha said. “But he will definitely be there at ten. He thinks he’s picking up a computer with a new list of Max’s accounts.”

“Skippy, are you all set?” Clay asked.

“Yep. GPS tracker on bait computer. We should be out of here by lunch time,” Jensen’s watch read 9:50. “I hear there’s an excellent Korean BBQ truck just up the road from here.”

“We are ready and set to go. The stork should be arriving at any time now,” Pooch said into the comm.

“Again with the baby references,” Jensen said to himself, typing furiously on the laptop in front of him. “This place has some of the worst security ever. I've already gone through the tax records of three companies in this building and I’ve only been here an hour. Also, who runs a tech support company in an industrial park?”

“Uh, Skippy,” the manager walked down the hallway to the counter, a magazine under his arm. “I’m stepping out for a few minutes. Hold down the fort.”

“Yes, sir.” Jensen said.

A black SUV pulled into the parking lot and parked. A man in an expensive-looking black suit got out of the driver’s side. He put on a pair of black sunglasses and made a kissy face to himself in the side mirror before walking through the entrance. Inside the glass building, the elevators were to the left of the unmanned circular information desk. To the right was a modern-looking metal spiral suspension staircase. A younger Asian-looking woman with pigtails sideswiped him. 

“Sorry! I’m late meeting my boyfriend!” she yelled back, running up the stairs. The man slid the sunglasses down the bridge of his nose slightly to check out the view of her very short pleated grey skirt bouncing up and down; the chains on her black ankle boots jingled with each step. The elevator doors opened and the man stepped in.

The door to the office swung open. The woman ran up to the counter.  
Jensen looked up and his jaw went slack. “Hiiii, how may I help you?”  
"I'm here to pick up an order," she said breathily, her cheeks flushed.  
"Sure, what's the ticket number?" Jensen asked.  
The woman patted herself down. "Shit. I left the ticket in the car. Can I just tell you what it looks like? I'm kinda in a hurry." She smiled and twirled one of the pigtails and let her flowy shirt slide down her left shoulder, revealing a red lace bra strap.  
Jensen gulped. "Sorry, rules are rules. You can go get it from the car. It'll still be here when you get back."  
She jumped up onto the counter, swung her legs over, and slid onto his lap. "Look, my ex-boyfriend will be here any second with the ticket and I really need to get to that laptop before he does. There's some--sensitive pictures---compromising pictures, maybe even videos on it. I didn't give him permission to take them and I really would like to get to them before he posts them all over the internet. It'll be real quick; I promise--" she looked down and stroked his nametag, “Skippy.”  
Jensen looked at the clock on the wall and then back at the woman on his lap. “Ok, how long can it take, right? The storage room is in the back.” She hopped off of him and followed him down the long, narrow hallway. 

“Soooo where’re ya from?” Jensen asked.  
“Jersey.”  
“I meant--”  
“I know what you mean. It's a rude question. I was born & raised in Jersey, so that's where I'm from.”  
“Okay--” he opened his mouth to say something, then decided against it and clenched his teeth; he shook his head at the ground, and then turned around to look back at her. “Jersey.”  
“My parents are from China,” she rolled her eyes.   
“China Jersey. Jersey China?”

Jensen unlocked the storage room with his ID; she walked in after him and closed the door behind her. Rows of metal wire shelves adorned the dimly lit 10 x 20 room.  
“It’s right there,” she said, pointing to a laptop on the top shelf against the far back wall. “The green one on top.”  
When Jensen went to reach for it, she swiped a thumb drive off a computer on the shelf next to the door and replaced it with another one, then walked up behind him.  
“Here you go,” he turned around and practically fell over her.  
She pushed him against the wall and kissed him hard.

The manager walked back into the office. The man with the sunglasses was sitting on one of the folding chairs.  
“I’m here to pick up an order,” he said with a piece of paper in his hand.  
“Oh, yes, sorry for the wait,” the manager said, taking the slip from him. “Where the hell did you go, Skippy?” he mumbled under his breath as he headed down the hallway.

Finally coming up for air, she said, “Thanks for helping me out.”  
“Anytime--hey, do you think--maybe we can grab dinner some time? Do you like Chinese?” He put his hands on her hips. “I haven’t had Chinese---in years. Or there’s a great Korean BBQ place up the street from here. I haven’t tried it yet, but I was going t---”  
“Do you ever stop talking?” she said.  
“What am I saying? Of course you like Chi--”  
“No really, shut the fuck up,” she kissed him again; her eyes looked towards the door. “I think someone’s coming.”

The door opened and the manager walked in.  
“Skippy, there you are. What is going on here? I'm not paying you to--” the man with the sunglasses knocked the manager out cold from behind.  
“Hey, was that really necessary? Simon there’s a pretty nice guy--a bit of a slob, but a nice guy,” Jensen said.  
The man slammed the door shut, pulled out a gun, and pointed it towards them.  
The woman pushed Jensen to the floor and flipped backwards, kicking the gun out of the man’s hand. He charged her and slammed her against a shelf, knocking computer parts all over the floor. Jensen got up, grabbing a keyboard from the floor; he smashed it into the man’s head, knocking the sunglasses off. He turned around with a scowl, grabbed Jensen by the neck with both hands and almost lifted him off the ground. She got up from the floor behind him and kicked him a few times in the kidneys, digging her heels into his expensive suit. He didn’t budge. She grabbed some cables from a nearby shelf, jumped on his back, and wrapped them around his neck. He let go of Jensen and slammed them backwards into a wall. She fell into a heap next to a shelf. The man dove towards the gun on the floor, but Jensen got to it first and tried to get up. The man grabbed Jensen’s shirt and wrestled him to the ground. The woman pulled out a small gun from her right boot and shot the man twice in the back of his neck with tranquilizer darts. The man collapsed on top of Jensen. She crawled over and rolled the man onto his back. She pulled out two plastic ties from her hair and bound the man’s hands and feet together.

“Jesus Christ!” Jensen yelled, pulling himself up to his feet.  
“He's still alive,” she said.  
“You're a fucking good shot! And you're pretty strong for such a tiny girl.”  
“Thanks, I think,” she got up and turned towards the door. Jensen grabbed her arm.  
“Where do you think you're going?”  
“Leaving before the cops get here. Don't worry, backup is on the way.”  
Jensen pulled her in closer. “You don't think I noticed that you switched that usb drive?”  
“Oh, you're pretty observant for such a whiny bitch, Petunias.”  
“Petun--” He drew the gun to her side. “Who the hell are you?”  
“Your new worst nightmare,” she grabbed the back of his head with her right hand and kissed him really hard, biting his lower lip just enough to make him uncomfortable.  
The door kicked open. Clay and Aisha walked through in EMT gear and a gurney.  
“I'd introduce you, but it looks like you two got well acquainted already,” Aisha said. “Get a room!”  
“We did!” the woman said.  
Jensen looked around. “What the fuck is going on here? You know this psycho thief?”  
“That's Alex,” Aisha said.  
“Alex? Alex!” Jensen yelled. “I thought Alex was a guy. I thought Alex was the drop!”  
Alex gestured towards the man on the floor. “He's the drop. Jeremy McFad, Max’s tax guy for the last three years. He must be really good if he’s worked for Max that long. It might take a while to get him to talk, but they all talk eventually.” She picked up the green laptop off the floor and handed it to Jensen. “There should be a list of bank account numbers on this somewhere.”  
“Then what's on the usb drive?” Jensen asked with a furrowed brow.  
“Some sensitive--compromising pictures and maybe some videos,” Alex bit her lower lip and winked. “Maybe I’ll show you over some Chinese food.” She slid the usb drive into her bra and helped Aisha and Clay get the man on the gurney.


End file.
